For Old Times Sake
by Kitty of 2 kingdoms
Summary: (1808.) Karlotta Lafayette, daughter of Marquis de Lafayette, travels to America with a message for what's left of the Hamilton's. Carrying her father's testimony of the rebellion she fights society to find them. (2016.) Her portrait is found in an attic of a New York house that once belonged to the Hamilton's. An art historian searches for her identity among the national history.
1. Prolouge-2016

**Hey! I'm obsessed with this shows music so I thought I'd write a story about Lafayette's possible kid (because he kinda disappears from the story after act 1). Not historically accurate.**

0; Discovery

* * *

 _03/03/2016AD_

* * *

"Where did you say the portraits are?" Of course the discovery of new portraits of the Hamilton family of America's founding fathers was a great find. If not the greatest in modern American art history. No I'm kidding myself at that fact. Luckily the owners of the building called me as soon as they found them. So now I'm at their house ready to make an initial examination.

"They're in the attic, we carefully put the lid back on the crate as soon as we found them." The first member of the couple seems anxious; I guess wondering what other surprises their new home holds.

"Could you take me there?" I ask trying to calm his nerves at this stranger in his home.

"Of course, follow me." And he leads me up the stairs his boyfriend in tow.

* * *

As soon as I open the crate I'm greeted by the smells of oil and dust, yet the portraits seem to be in good condition. I carefully lay them out across the dust sheet covered floors to find out who we have. Alexander himself. His wife Elizabeth. Her sister Angelica. Eliza and Alexander's children, Angelica jr and Phillip. And...wait...this portrait looks different.

It's in a different style. Side on of the upper-body, with loosely styled bronze/ginger/red-golden hair accessorised with a cherry blossom flower. Pale skin and a nose splattered with well defined freckles, with full tea rose pink lips and wide green eyes. Her dress is pale blue and cut so the neckline is just below her collarbones. This is embellished by the forest green bow on her dress and her yellow pearl necklace. She's painted against a blossoming garden.

The frame shows no name plate. It's simple yet elegant. And as I turn it over to see if a name is on the back I read the words 'soeur d'honneur'. Honorary sister in French. and underneath it the name Karlotta.

* * *

"So what did you find?" I'm back at the arts lab at NYU talking to the chief restorations artist.

"You can look for yourself." I say gesturing to the crate. As he opens it his face lights up like a small child on Christmas. Five famous historical figures and the mysterious 'Karlotta'.

"Who is she?"

"I think her name is Karlotta. Her portrait was with the Hamilton's so she must've been close to them."

"Well I think you should find out who she is. If you find her you'll be paid half the what gallery pays for her portrait. But we should find out where she is from before we place her in gallery. Britain or France or Germany might want her."

I thank him and leave, a new job on my hands as he restores the oils to their former glory...

* * *

 **Kind of a bad ending but it was just set-up for the next chapter so please stick around.**


	2. A Journey Just Begining-1808 and 2016

**Thanks to anyone who made it past that bad prologue. Just to explain it, the art historian is meant to be genderless and a base character for you to self insert. And I'm so sorry for my long hiatus between chapters. School and life just ground me down. (also in terms of story recommendations: I do just want to recommend 'Nose to the (coffee) grind stone' by smoltinypumpkinchild (there is another recommendation at the bottom!)) But anyway this is the proper start of my story, so meet Karlotta Lafayette...**

 **Sayonara from Kitten.**

1; A Journey Just Beginning

* * *

 _21/05/1808AD_

* * *

"Hurry! Fetch the doctor. His fever's risen again." I order my maid Fleur, while quietly I mutter to him: "Please Stay with me." She bobs her head and scurries off as I wet a cloth with cold water and attempt to cool his reddening face as he thrashes, delirious.

"Jeanne. Jeanne ma chere." Of course he is asking for my mother, talking to her. She's been dead ten years yet everyday we feel her presence in this house. Our family house, meant for a large noble family. Yet all that is left of that dream is me and my father. My mother died giving birth to my little brother. The twins which had come before and died in infancy had weakened her. "Alex...Alexander..." Wait who is this man, Alexander? It's not a French name. It must be from his days of the American Revolution.

But before I can contemplate this anymore, the doctor walks in and shoves me to the side. I hear him call me 'emotionally weak and fragile'. Sexist bastard. Then again, they've never put me down. And neither will this.

"Sir, my I help you with caring for my father?" I ask the Doctor. He looks to be around forty, with greying hair and a harsh face. But instead he gestures to the footman who led him in, Pierre, and says:

"Get her out."

And just like that I'm dragged from my fathers room by Pierre. He apologises profusely as he half drags and half carries me to my room on the other side of the house.

* * *

 _29/05/1808AD_

* * *

For the last week I was a prisoner in my own home. They prevented me from going to dinner or meeting other people besides from Fleur. And barred me from my fathers bedside. So after three days of fretting, like the fragile fool the doctor called me, and trying to plan a fiendish escape. (Not that that will ever happen!) I took to damaging various old farming objects with the pistol father gave me. However it does mean I now aim a lot more accurately. Maybe next time I duel somebody I'll slice through their sleeve and graze their skin; a clear win.

"My lady, your father wishes to see you." A voice says from outside my door, the voice of Tobias (one of the three footmen managing this manor). I hear the key turn in the lock and I abandon my now emptied pistol on my small 'vanity desk' which I only use for writing and sitting. I'm not very taken by the deadly cosmetics the other women shroud themselves in.

As the door opens I smile, a veil on my turbulent feelings of worry and anger, and immediately make for my father's room; my old hoop-less dress allowing me to speed through the often slim hallways of my family's ancestral manor. Not that either of us wanted this life. I wait patiently (just kidding anxiously) outside my fathers room for the full minute it takes Tobias to catch up with me. Then slowly push open the door to see...

* * *

 _04/03/2016AD_

* * *

I'm at the library ready to check some census' from the first two decades of the nineteenth centaury. Surely if I check uptown New York I'll find the name Karlotta somewhere. Upon finding the census check portal, four iPad's on stands in what is essentially a corridor, I sit down at the most secluded removing my old black double breasted coat to reveal my brown button down shirt and blue jeans. Carefully I type the dates 1800-1820 into the census checker or whatever you call it and begin to look.

* * *

 _29/05/1808AD_

* * *

"Father." He's sitting up in bed and attempting to speak to Pierre despite his speech being a little garbled; a far cry from the dying man receiving his last rites as I had believed him to be.

"My little dove. I-" but before he can continue he's cut off by a hacking bout of coughs that seem to shake him to the core. And finally my father's mortality reaches me. No matter what happens, he will die eventually, I guess we all will. But his candle is nearly extinguished. "I h-have a mission for you." He begins again shakily and rasping.

"What is it father, I will do anything that you wish." and as I speak I walk up to him and sit softly on the edge of his bed.

"I want you t-to take a document to America for me. A-a account of the revolution for a friend. S-so he can write more."

"You want me to go that far?"

"Yes. Stay with his family-they are great people."

* * *

The rest of my time with him for today was cut short by another brutal coughing outburst and the insistence that he should rest. But no more than an hour after I had left his sights, I was visited by Mathieu, his pet lawyer. Also the only man besides from Father and Tobias on a first name basis with me.

"Look Karlotta, his mind is gone, and he will be soon as well. You don't have to America. Someone else can deliver the message." He's always been the protective sort, kind of like a big brother. No doubt this is negotiation for my own safety!

"What message? He asked me to deliver it, so I will."

"As he said its an account of the American Revolution. And a eulogy for his friend A-"

"Alexander." I blurt in. I knew those words meant something. Even if it is that he's now so close to the other side that he can see his long gone friends.

"Yes, his wife, Eliza, was collecting the accounts of him and of the war from his living friends."

"So I need to deliver it, as a surrogate for him. Eliza should wish to see him again no doubt, but there's no way she can."

"Ughhh, you put up a convincing argument. I wish there was a way to stop you, but you're on your way to another hurricane warpath so I can't for fear of my own life!"

"Stop being melodramatic, and show me the papers. I'm going to America in the next two weeks if it kills me." Haha. Karlotta 10 - Mathieu 0.

* * *

 _05/06/1808AD_

* * *

As the sailors raise anchor and begin to direct the ship down the Seine I smile and wave to Mathieu, Fleur and My Father in a bath-chair. With his weak legs they refused to let him walk. Off I go to New York, two sealed copies of the document in my trunk along with a what can only be described as a ball gown, a pair of wholly insensible shoes, my duelling pistol and a few more of my simplified dresses like the one I'm wearing right now with my old supple riding boots.

And then suddenly a phrase my father told me pops into my head: _In New York you can be a new man_...

* * *

 **So how's that? Also please read 'The Bloody Babe of Cape Hatteras' by tribbletrash when I publish the next chapter as I am borrowing her version of Angelica jr for next chapter's action packed adventure. Review if you liked or if you didn't, shout outs will be given. And _so long farewell, we hate to say goodnight..._**


	3. A Disrupted Journey-1808 and 2016

**Hey Guys! I'm sorry the wait was ages...but I am still alive! Besides my schools attempts to kill me I am back, but I wrote most of this late on a Wednesday night and only briefly proof read this. Anyways here's Chapter 2. And remember I would recommend reading 'The Bloody Babe of Cape Hatteras' by tribbletrash before or after you read this chapter and in general because its a great story. Anyway onto the story and enjoy...**

 **Sayonara From Kitten.**

2; A Disrupted Journey

* * *

 _26/07/1808AD_

* * *

We've had an unusually fast voyage, only ten days up the Seine and almost eight weeks at sea. They say we'll be in new York by nightfall tomorrow at the latest. But anyway my father's confession, and the copy to replace the first if it gets damaged are still safely stowed in my trunk under my bunk with their watertight seals still perfectly intact. In fact I'd wrapped then in my fanciest dress, not that I wanted to bring this dress, to hide them from the prying eyes of my bunk mate Larette. Seriously that girl is as nosy and lose lipped as they come; the one thing she respects is clothes.

However the sailors worries are worrying me too. They aren't worries about the weather or sea conditions. They're about the infamous Bloody Babe. She was spotted only a few dozen miles south not long ago and the latest rumours say she kidnapped a governor's wife in an attempt to seduce her. She was found a week later asleep in a row boat unharmed, but its still scary shit. Especially with the idea that she sodomises the women she kidnaps. Anyway I should be sleeping, I'll have to negotiate New York tomorrow.

* * *

 _(Just past midnight) 27/07/1808AD_

* * *

Why am I awake? What was that noise which woke me up? There it is again. The sound of a pistol. The stamp of heavy boots. The ring of fine steel being drawn. Oh God, this could only be one thing. The Bloody Babe has found our ship. It could be another less bloodthirsty pirate or privateer who will just take our money or products and leave-

"So which one of you mongrels is going to offer me a wench?" A swaggering female voice asked. So it is the Bloody Babe after all...

I jump up and pull my easiest dress over my head and on and tug on my boots. I know that the bloody babe is some relation of those my father wanted me to meet so I guess I could bargain with my ties to her family. And speaking of that, I should grab my fathers confession, both copies so I have one to bargain with if necessary. And My pistol. Of course I need my pistol. I guess I'll stuff it down my bodice. No one will notice under a shawl.

"Hey Girlies, its show time." One of the sleazier sailors says as he walks into our cabin. "I'm sorry if you're not quite dressed yet, but I like my body without any new holes. Oh, and also if you resist on the way up, you might get waylaid."

"So up to the deck? I guess we better not keep the infamous Bloody Babe waiting." I say dragging a sobbing Larette behind me.

* * *

"So hello ladies." I'm now standing before the Bloody Babe. I refuse to give in to my fears and break down and pray like all the other passengers and crew on this damned ship. "Now I'd like to let you introduce yourselves, as your canniness might save all of your friends."

"M-m-my n-name is L-larette, I'm f-from I-ireland." But I can tell by the Bloody Babe's posture and face that she's not interested. She wanders right past the next two women who are mirroring Larette's behaviour.

"I'm bored of crying little girls. Hey. What's your name defiant little firecracker." I've got her attention, now is the time to act.

"Bon soir, mademoiselle. My name is Karlotta Lafayette. I am being sent to America by my father, the Marquis de Lafayette, to deliver a war confession to the widow of Alexander Hamilton." To my surprise she's gone shock still; she began to drop her mask when I mentioned my fathers name, but the mention of Alexander Hamilton lay waste to her carefully crafted swaggering whoring persona.

She suddenly lapses into French, badly accented but fluent at that to ask me two questions (or are they really one?). The question was: "The Marquis de Lafayette who won Yorktown? Who won with Alexander Hamilton?"

Deciding to take the safe route I also reply in French. "Yes, and yes again. I have his confession on me, if you are interested I am free to trade a copy for the safety of a few of us."

"You are a good woman Karlotta," She them began to mumble but I picked out the words: "make sure my mother gets the confession."

I carefully handed over the second copy. Placing the sealed tube into her hands I hear her yell the words in English: "Alright you lubbers, thanks to your French friend over here I am going to allow 12 people, including her, to go free in four row boats. The ladies go first and then anyone else who has a good reason to live."

* * *

 _04/03/2016AD_

* * *

I decide to change my search from the census' that reveal no hidden knowledge about this girl to harbour and shipwreck reports. They would likely contain a description of any immigrants moving into New York and their name. While shipwreck reports will most likely contain a description of the survivor or corpse, where they were sent and their name. I scroll through for over a quarter of an hour before I reach the morning of the 27th of July 1808. There I find the description of 'The first survivor from the wreck of the Mirage". The young woman was described as having long bright auburn hair, porcelain pale skin (possibly because of the cold) and was found unconscious and clinging to an upturned rowboat. She was sent to local hospital, but the sisters Eliza Hamilton and Angelica Church were called for as she was found to be carrying a sealed message tube addressed to Eliza inside her shawl. I also found a later addenda which stated that her name was Karlotta and that she was French. Could I have found her?


	4. A Reunion Of Sorts-1808 and 2016

**Hello wonderful people of the internet! (Did I steal that off a YouTuber?) Anyways hopefully after this chapter I'll hiatus less and write more despite school getting more and more intense in the lead up to my GCSE's (EEEK!). Also funny story, I looked at my story management page today (04/02/2017) and this story had 666 views and 13 followers... _SPOOPY!_**

 **In other more exciting news: I got Hamilton London tickets! I got a presale code so I got tickets for March of 2018!**

 **Today's community spon is: Mean Politicians - Hamilton goes Mean Girls! This is a really fun story which puts the characters of Hamilton through the story of Mean Girls with the southern Republicans as the plastics!**

 **(Just to say, as you can see I started this chapter way back at the start of February and am only now finishing it. This is because of school, as just after I started this chapter the homework intensity picked up, mainly due to coursework and past papers, but I am finishing this chapter now so if I don't update for a while its because of school.)**

 **Anyway, Sayonara from Kitten!**

3; A Reunion Of Sorts

* * *

 _28/07/1808 AD_

* * *

I don't remember much. I don't really remember much besides my rowboat flipping, and struggling to climb on top in an effort to avoid drowning. After that its just empty blackness and the faint sound of the ocean. I don't know how I ended up dry and in a bed in a loud large room. But judging by the accents and the fact that they are speaking English, I somehow made it to New York.

I ease my crusty eyes open and see a high, discoloured white ceiling; and as I turn my head I see a few dressing screens separating off my bed from the rest of the room. On the other side I can see shapes moving and the soft murmuring of quiet voices, while in the distance someone coughs and hacks. I try to sit up as I see the shapes of skirts and bodies through the screen at the foot of my bed, but as I ease upwards I'm hit by a wave of blinding nausea that paralyses me in place. Deciding against sitting all the way up, I settle back againt the bed frame, wincing as the steel digs into my shoulders (I guess bruised from being hit by the boat).

Then the screen moves to let in two women who look to be in their forties with kind faces and a more matronly looking woman in an apron who immediately begins to fuss around with the ewer of water on a low table near me. Then the woman who looked just slightly younger out of the pair walks up towards me and sits in the small wooden chair on the other side of my bed from the table and ewer.

"Hello, my name's Eliza Hamilton. They brought me here as I was the only person that could be linked to you."

"Hello." I rasp, my accent more prevalent than usual. "My name is Karlotta Lafayette."

"Well then, hello Karlotta. Are you a relation of the Marquis de Lafayette?"

"Yes, I'm his daughter. He sent me to give you his account of the war-" Where is it? I don't know where it is and there's no other copies! Oh holy crapola!

clearly seeing the sudden panic on my face, Eliza laughs and replys with: "Oh don't worry, they gave it to me when I arrived here."

"Dieu merci. I thought it had been destroyed, I almost lost my life to the Bloody Babe trying to get it to you." But when she visibly droops at the phrase Bloody Babe I realise I've said the wrong thing. "Je suis désolé. I am so sorry. I should've thought first."

It is at this moment that her sister, Angelica, begins to speak. "Ack, Eliza you need to stop being so sensitive, she's her fathers daughter that's why she ran. And you are most definitely your father's daughter too. Karlotta is it? I'm Angelica, but everyone calls me Angie."

"Hello Angelica, and again I'm so sorry."

"My sister has a great attraction to caring for children, that's why we run an orphanage in her big house."

Then suddenly Eliza returns to the conversation: "Yes, we do, they all remind me of my husband...but anyway do you have anywhere to stay? Because they can only keep you here another two days if you don't."

"I'm afraid I don't. All my father told me was to find you..."

"Perfect! Angie we've finally got someone else!" Eliza says practically jumping up from her seat only to be calmed by her far more logical sister.

"Eliza you haven't even asked her. And she probably can't even leave a bed yet." Then she directs her attention to me; "I'm sorry, my sister has been looking for someone to help around at the orphanage and teach French to the older children. Will you help us? And whether or not you do so our house is open to you."

"You know what, Angie, I'll help you. I cant tell you for how long, or how successful I'll be at teaching those kids. But I'll come with you."

"That's great. In fact if you can get dressed, we can get them to discharge you within the hour."

* * *

 _06/03/2016AD_

* * *

Today I finally got to see the records from the old New York public charity hospital. They led me into the delicate records room underneath the library and carefully removed the records book for July of 1808 and I turned to the 28th. Near the end of the page there was an entry which stated: 'The French shipwreck victim; Karlotta Lafayette; was discharged and removed by the sisters Eliza Hamilton and Angelica Church to they're home/orphanage.' I've found my next two clues to the possible identity of the woman in the painting: her last name and her next location which would explain the painting.

* * *

 _28/07/1808AD_

* * *

As the carriage pulls up outside the nice looking large house where I'm now to live I realise an adventure is just beginning...

* * *

Glossary

* * *

 **Dieu merci** \- Thank God

 **Je suis désolé** \- I'm sorry


	5. A New Family-1808

**Hi guys, I'm just trying to get a bit of chapter writing in whenever I can or have inspiration: so I wrote this late at night while procrastinating coursework and listening to Disney. (And because I just finished re-listening to the soundtrack, and I almost cried this three times this time). But anyways, this chapter I plan to introduce you to Levi (The man who owned the painting of Karlotta that was found) so I hope you enjoy this little chapter of family fluff and character development.**

 **This weeks Fandom Spon is: 'Soldier' by Whispering Willows, Its a non-canon tale about a friend of the Schuyler sisters who joins the army while also still being romantically entangled with Lafayette as a woman. In a quick 15 minute read it had me captivated and thoroughly questioning how the protagonist would get through a sticky situation.**

 **Sayonara from Kitten.**

4; A New Family

* * *

 _03/08/1808AD_

* * *

In the week since I've arrived in this big eclectic orphanage, or should I say family, I've met at least a dozen crazy children from all former walks of life. As for the first three days I was bedridden, and I wasn't allowed to leave the floor my room is on until this morning, they've mostly been coming to me asking for a book to be read to them, who I am really (one girl thought I was a mermaid who was captured by a rouge sailor who was my true love) and bringing me food that got half destroyed in the process of moving up a staircase and along a corridor. But it's homely and still tastes great so I eat it anyway.

Anyway today is the first day of my French classes for the older kids (12 and up). I don't really know most of them, as they were in classes with Angie for most of day, and supposedly some of them practically live in the library which adjoins Alexander's old office which is still untouched. )Besides from Eliza and Angelica's attempts to make sense of his thousands of pages of writing.) One of those kids who might as well be a book himself is the supposed smartest kid in the orphanage: Levi.

Class began with them all walking into the side room with some desks and chairs, and a hair and small chalkboard for me teach from. Most of them seemed excited to try and learn my language -perhaps because they weren't being taught by Angelica- and the older sister of the nine year old who thought I was a mermaid even apologised for her sister. I decided to begin by teaching them their numbers, colours and how to introduce themselves in French first. They seemed to absorb the knowledge well taking quite a few notes and carefully reciting my pronunciations for each of the words and phrases I taught them. Even greeting each other courteously with the typical kisses once I showed them at the end how to. Honestly, if I was Eliza I'd be proud as all heck that these children were raised under my roof.

And that leads me to now, Levi who has all the makings of a man my father would drink with (wit, courage and chivalry), is now helping me pack up the chalk and props I used to help explain how to pronounce the more difficult phrases in their basic learning. "Just asking Levi, but why are you helping me?"

"Because we all know you're still injured, and I have no one to talk to but the books and the walls. And as much as I'd like them to reveal their secrets they remain silent to me as I don't have the magic touch."

"Oh, I just thought you were being nice. But equally I had my father and les chevaux, sorry, the horses and pistols, even after my mother and siblings died." Perhaps this was too touchy a subject but I have to speak before I vent on someone.

"Pistols? Do you mean you can shoot? Eliza won't let any of us in her husband's office, partially because we'd just mess things up. But really I think she doesn't want us to see the duelling pistols he has in his drawer."

"And how do you know that Levi? Because Eliza wouldn't tell you that."

"Uh...I ummm picked the lock once while they were out and had a look."

"Plucky of you huh, I had two. They were in my case on the ship, hidden in a pair of fancy shoes; now they're at the bottom of the ocean."

"Please don't tell Eliza or Angelica! I don't know how they'd punish me!"

"Don't worry its our little secret. Especially if you can find me some trousers, a shirt, a men's jacket, some small men's boots and a hat. I still have my money so I feel like going to find a new gun, or at least a practise area."

"Sure thing miss Karlotta."

"Levi, I like you, so don't waste that privilege by being formal. Anyway I better put these in the cupboard before Eliza yells at me for making a mess." At that point he left, I guess to read or play with a ball in the garden with the other boys, and one insane young girl called Aurora -who honestly reminds me of me.

* * *

 _05/08/1808AD_

* * *

Its been two days since I asked Levi for a disguise, and he hasn't disappointed. Neither has the French class with all of them quickly learning avoir, to have, beginning to converse tentatively on that subject. I also managed to get them to obey the French for sit, stand, listen and discuss. But I got side-tracked, what's more important is that right now I'm sneaking out of the uptown house that serves as the orphanage and walking down to the inner city retail district to find a good pistol that'll hide under a skirt and petticoat. As my dress I wore on that fateful night on the ocean has a gun slit for hidden protection, and it somehow still fits after all the ordeals its been through.

All I'll need is a holster, a pistol, some musket balls and some powder. All of which I think I can find in this shop. It's a worn looking arms store in Harlem, within which I can hear the owner and a man conversing in fluent French. I step in the door and take in the sweet dusty smell of powder and pistols that shrouds the room.

"Bonjour monsieur, I assume you'll be quiet about my identity." I say, not bothering to disguise my voice as I was never too good at it.

"Of course, mademoiselle?"

"Lafayette, are you from France? As your accent seems to give you away."

"Indeed mademoiselle, what are you here for?"

"A small pistol, duelling preferably, a holster and some ammunition. Also could you recommend a practising area or range. As I am a little rusty from my two months away from marksmanship, and a new pistol takes some getting used to."

"Perhaps this one mademoiselle." I look down to the counter to see a slim pistol with a length from cock to barrel end about the same as my hand and an easy trigger. It has some slight detailing down the sides and on the cock, but otherwise it is plain and unassuming. I pick it up to feel the balance and find that it's the perfect weight for me with a carefully synched balance.

"It's perfect monsieur. You are truly a wizard. How much is it?"

"7 dollars, as it is used. and with ammunition it will be 8 dollars. Also there's a practising range in the north end of this district, the men there shouldn't hassle you." I pay him carefully, tipping him for the advice.

"Merci beaucoup monsieur. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."

"And you too, mademoiselle marquis."

* * *

Glossary

* * *

 **les chevaux** \- The horses

 **avoir** \- quite literally the verb: to have

 **Merci beaucoup** \- Thank you very much


End file.
